Hate Is Such a Strong Word...

by Sarah Ayoub

  She returns holding a novel for me and my face lights up. There are definite perks to having a good relationship with the librarian.

  ‘Diane Armstrong’s Empire Day,’ she says. ‘As soon as I read the blurb I knew it would be perfect for you. It’s set in Sydney in 1948 and looks at some of the issues around post-war migration. It’ll be useful for your Society and Culture assessment, but I thought the themes – identity, ethnicity, belonging – would interest you anyway.’

  ‘Wow, Mrs Morton, am I that transparent?’

  She smiles. ‘Let’s just say your borrowing record says a lot about your interests. Now, it’s not officially on the system yet, so please take care of it and bring it back as soon as you’re done.’

  ‘I always do,’ I say, grinning. ‘Thanks heaps. I appreciate it.’

  And just like that, I have even more of an excuse to spend the rest of the week in the library. Books, unlike people, never let me down.

  14

  I hate feeling like I don’t have a say in my own life

  My parents have a barbecue for Mother’s Day and invite our entire extended family. With eleven adults and fifteen kids, the lunch is pretty much chaos, and as usual the women do all the work. Not a very good Mother’s Day present if you ask me, but no one ever does.

  The men sit like kings at the table, talking Lebanese politics and drinking beer, while their wives hover in the kitchen and carry out plates of food. Clearly this level of service isn’t enough, because intermittently my dad or uncle asks one of us girls to go fetch something else for them, like another drink or some garlic sauce or more bread.

  I sit at the edge of a long table, which is actually four tables joined together and covered by one of those plastic tablecloths you get at a two-dollar store, astounded at the patriarchal crap that makes my family go round.

  Eventually, the topic of conversation turns to me. ‘Khabrina ya, Sophie,’ my uncle’s wife, Paula, says to me. ‘What are you going to do next year? University, mesh hayk?’

  It’s a rhetorical question, because to them uni is the only option. It figures, given ninety per cent of our family are migrants whose sole purpose for coming here was to give their kids an education.

  Dad responds on my behalf before I have a chance to speak.

  ‘She’s going to apply for business and commerce and come out of uni an accountant,’ he says, smiling. ‘She does so well at Business Studies at school, and Economics and even Mathematics.’

  Everyone at the table murmurs their approval, except Leila, who shakes her head. No one notices except me.

  ‘We couldn’t keep her in the Two-unit Extension Maths,’ Dad goes on. ‘But General Maths is all she needs if she wants to do accounting. They have a bridging course at the University of Western Sydney – close to home in Milperra. She needn’t give her father a big heart attack by being too far away.’

  ‘Allah amir hal balad,’ my uncle says, pleading with God to continue to build up his adopted homeland. ‘There are universities everywhere. And they even give the students financial assistance to study. Not like in the old country, eh?’

  Dad nods, even though he rarely steps outside of his little Lebanese enclave.

  ‘Sophie will do well no matter what she does,’ Paula says, smiling. ‘She’s a very good girl.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ Dad says proudly, pleased at the comment. ‘She listens to her father, respects her mother, does what she is meant to do.’

  Later, when Leila and I are drying the dishes, she asks me how I feel about going to uni.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I tell her. ‘But I know I don’t want to do accounting or business. I’d love to do something with a bit more passion behind it.’

  ‘You can’t fight for something if you don’t know what it is, Soph. What do you like to do?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know, I guess something creative maybe, like drama or photography or interior design. Or even art.’

  She looks at me, bemused. ‘You doing art? Remember that Van Gogh piece you had to copy in Year Seven? What a disaster you made of a great painting!’

  I laugh and shove her. ‘Don’t be mean. I know I can’t draw, but I like art. I could study all the great artists and interpretations of their work, and I could run a gallery.’

  ‘Let’s be realistic rather than whimsical,’ she says. ‘What can you actually see yourself doing? You have a lot of opinions, and when you’re feeling confident you usually argue them well. Plus, you’re interested in social issues. You could become one of those pro-bono lawyers?’

  I make a face. ‘I just want to do something I really believe in and feel passionate about,’ I explain. There’s no passion in accounting … or in numbers.’

  ‘Unless it’s the numbers you rack up on your credit card after a splurge at Cosmopolitan Shoes!’

  Leila and I both laugh, and then she turns away to wipe the benchtops. She looks tired, and I remember how she was stressed last time I’d seen her.

  ‘Are you okay, Leila?’ I ask. ‘You don’t seem like your usual self.’

  ‘Just a lot happening at work, kid,’ she replies, but I know she’s lying. She’s usually pretty blasé about work, so I don’t understand why she’s fobbing me off.

  ‘I gotta go to the bathroom,’ she says awkwardly. ‘You should go study a bit. Heaven forbid you don’t get into that accounting course at the uni that’s ten minutes away …’ She makes a face at me and leaves the room.

  I do head up to my room to do some work, but I’m too distracted. I hop online and browse through some uni websites. Now that I think about it, I really want to go to a city university. I browse through the programs at Notre Dame, UTS and Sydney Uni, hoping to find a course that speaks to me.

  A while later, I’m interrupted by the sound of Dad arguing with someone. I look out the window and notice that my relatives’ cars are no longer there. Only Leila’s remains. I tiptoe out of my room, careful not to make any noise, and hide on the landing upstairs.

  ‘You don’t know if it’s really the case. Why would you open up old wounds?’ Dad says.

  ‘Old wounds for you or old wounds for me, Elias?’ Leila sounds exasperated. ‘What the hell is the matter with you?’

  ‘Nothing would be the matter with me if you did the right thing!’ he bellows. ‘But you never change! You are always causing dramas and dilemmas for this family. Why can’t you ever make a choice that is suitable?’

  ‘Because no choice is suitable unless it is your choice,’ Leila says slowly. ‘Your daughter’s a grown woman and you’re still making choices for her and keeping her trapped. But she’s living under your roof and you are her father, so even though I want to, I won’t interfere. But, mark my words, it will come back to bite you.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that,’ he snaps.

  ‘I can say whatever I want, because you can’t control me,’ Leila retorts. ‘You never have and you never will. I’m leaving. Please thank Theresa for lunch.’

  I step back quickly so she can’t see me as she walks down the hall and slams the front door behind her.

  Dad’s in a bad mood for the rest of the afternoon, and dinner is uncomfortably quiet. Afterwards, I follow Andrew into his room to ask him if he heard anything.

  ‘Why are you being nosey?’ he demands. ‘If people are having problems, they don’t need you poking yourself into their business.’

  I think back to the days when I had a good relationship with my brother. Now he seems to think that ‘becoming a man’ gives him licence to be an asshole.

  ‘Hey, relax,’ I say. ‘I just wanted to know if they were okay. It sounded bad.’ I turn to walk out the door.

  ‘Yeah, and it’ll probably get worse if you interfere in something that has nothing to do with you,’ he says. ‘And that goes for being friends with that Shire boy too.’

  I spin around. ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘I have my sources,’ he says, getting off the bed to switch on the Wii and grab his jo
ystick. ‘It’s not making you look good, sis. So you better stop now before we all start suffering from your bad reputation.’

  ‘Now look who’s interfering,’ I argue. ‘What’s any of that got to do with you? First of all, the guy’s half-Lebanese and has just as much right to go to our school as you and me. And everyone who treats him like crap isn’t behaving very Christian, if you ask me. Isn’t that more important to the school than cultural loyalty?’

  ‘Don’t pretend you know anything about loyalty to our culture,’ he says. ‘Now get out. I have to play a bit before I go to bed, otherwise I can’t relax.’

  Back in my room, I flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling. What the hell is going on with everyone?

  Grabbing my phone out of my back pocket, I send an SMS to Leila.

  Hey, I want 2 come hang out this wk after work. Sat & Sun, totes need a break from Dad. OK by u?

  Two hours later, by the time I go to bed, I still don’t have a response.

  Sorry sweets, real busy ATM, but we’ll catch up soon, I swear. Sure mum or dad can take u to work in meantime. Just have a lot goin on xx

  Leila’s reply, a day later, buckles me. She’s never this distant. I wonder what’s happened, but I know I’m not going to get the answers from Mum or Dad. I think about it the entire week, moping around because I’ve never felt so alone before, especially now I don’t even have Dora.

  At work, Casey corners me in the staffroom about her birthday. ‘So you’ve officially declined my invitation?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. It was never going to happen for me.’

  ‘It’s okay, I understand,’ she says, shrugging. ‘Although I’d much prefer you were coming than some other people.’ She eyes Morgan, who’s getting up from the lunch table.

  ‘Am I missing something?’ I say. ‘You invited Morgan?’

  She makes a face. ‘Well, he sort of invited himself.’

  ‘He’s like twenty-eight! How are you even friends?’

  ‘I’m embarrassed to tell you,’ she says. ‘We hooked up once – at the Christmas party last year. No one knows. If they did, I’d never live it down.’

  My eyes widen.

  ‘Don’t ever get drunk at work functions, because you’ll never end up with someone cute, like Shehadie or Jordan or even Hayden Williams,’ she adds. ‘It’s always the losers who’re available.’

  ‘Um, all I can say is eww. What were you thinking? He’s not even your type! You wear sparkly tutus and do ballet. He listens to Iron Maiden and dyes his hair black and has ugly tattoos.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking!’ she hisses. ‘I was drunk! Come on, as if you’ve never hooked up with anyone regrettable?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘No one?’ she says. ‘As if.’

  I redden. ‘I haven’t hooked up with anyone full stop,’ I whisper.

  It takes her a moment to register. ‘So wait … you’re a virgin?’

  I nod.

  ‘Oh, that is so old school. And cute.’

  I make a face at her.

  She shrugs. ‘It’s just a little surprising, that’s all. It’s not like you’re unattractive. What are you waiting for?’

  ‘What, so unattractive people don’t have sex?’ I ask, mocking her. ‘It’s not about that. I’ve decided to wait until I get married. No big deal.’

  ‘No big deal? Are you for real?’ She looks amused.

  ‘Look, no judgement on anyone else,’ I explain. ‘It’s just not for me. I’m not a prude. I just like to think of how much I’m sharing and who I’m sharing it with. I don’t even wear really skimpy clothes. I like the idea of part of me remaining hidden.’

  ‘Romance and mystery and all that?’ she says.

  ‘You’re making fun of me,’ I say, shoving her. ‘But I want my husband to earn the right to my body. People complain that chivalry is dead, and some women might say that I’m not empowered. But I feel empowered by my choice; it makes me feel strong and in control. I think of feminism as going against the grain of what society expects, and in this day and age, sex is everywhere. So I want to be different. My body is sacred, so I want a guy to see me for my true worth first, and sometimes that takes a big commitment. Like marriage. It’s not for everyone, but it’s right for me.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about a guy not sticking around because of it?’ she asks.

  ‘Hell no, it’s a great way of weeding out the bad ones,’ I say, smiling. ‘Not that I really know yet, but I guess I’d be upfront about it.’

  ‘Wow.’ She gives a long, low whistle that makes me laugh. ‘You learn something new every day, don’t you? It’s not for me, but hey, kudos to you.’

  She heads towards the door, then turns around. ‘Hey, Sophie? That stuff you said about your body was nice. Maybe if we all thought like that, we’d have more self-esteem and fewer body issues.’

  ‘That’s a whole other kettle of fish,’ I say. ‘But either way, I’d appreciate it if you kept this conversation between us.’

  ‘No problems,’ she replies, walking out.

  15

  I hate it when the right thing is right in front of my face

  A week goes by and I’m still stressing about Leila. On Tuesday at lunch, I’m writing in my journal in one of the library study rooms when two girls from my Society and Culture class, Sue Danneya and Nicole Nader, walk in.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Sophie,’ Sue says. ‘Do you mind if we sit here for ten minutes? It’s really noisy out there and I need to explain Nicole’s Maths homework to her.’

  ‘No problem,’ I say. ‘I’m not really writing anything important anyway. I think I’m bored and hungry.’

  ‘Bored, I get,’ Sue says. ‘But how does a Lebanese person ever get hungry the way our mums stuff our lunch boxes?’

  ‘I forgot mine,’ I say. ‘Mum can’t have noticed otherwise she’d have brought it over.’

  ‘Can I lend you some cash?’ she asks.

  ‘Oh no, it’s all good, thanks. I already bought something from the canteen. It was gross though.’

  She quickly explains an equation formula to Nicole, then plucks a mirror out of her bag and peers into it. ‘Man, I can’t stand these curls anymore. Just a bit of humidity and I transform into a mad scientist. I swear Mr Bierden was laughing at me in Chemistry.’

  ‘I think he was laughing about all the recognition he’s gonna get when his mad scientist student gets the highest grade in the state for HSC Chemistry,’ Nicole says.

  ‘Thanks for the moral support. I’ll be sure to put a “Don’t let Nicole borrow” post-it on my ghd when it comes next week.’

  ‘Ooooh, your mum finally bought it for you! Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?’

  Sue laughs. ‘Hurry up and do your Maths, we’re gonna be late for choir.’ She smiles at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, Sophie, we’re making it hard for you to concentrate.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say. ‘So you’ve got choir practice?’

  ‘Yeah, once a fortnight. You should come with us if you’re bored.’

  I make a face.

  ‘But you know, you don’t have to,’ she says when she sees my reaction.

  ‘Nah, it’s not that. I just can’t sing.’

  Sue grins. ‘Actually, you’d be surprised at how much fun you’ll have. Don’t worry about the actual singing, sometimes we just hum in the background. There’s a Year Nine student and two Year Ten girls who have amazing voices so we’re usually just their background support.’

  ‘Um, okay, why not?’ I say. ‘Got nothing better to do.’

  ‘Woohoo, recruitment!’ Nicole says, closing her textbook.

  Sue gives her a death stare.

  ‘What? I finished it, and did another equation too – just in case. Thanks for explaining it to me, my smart little cookie!’

  ‘Nicole’s had far too many sherbet sticks today,’ Sue says. ‘Actually, no, this behaviour’s kind of normal. Using sugar as an excuse is a downright lie.’

 
; I laugh.

  We drop our bags off at the entrance to the seniors’ building, then start walking to the church.

  ‘So, how come you’re not with Dora?’ Nicole asks after a few minutes. ‘Did you have a falling out or something? She’s been spending a lot of time with Vanessa and that group lately, but I didn’t even think they were friends.’

  ‘Nicole, you idiot, that’s none of your business,’ Sue says, mouthing ‘sorry’ to me.

  ‘Nah, it’s okay,’ I say. ‘We’re just into different things now, you know.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be nosey, but is that why you’ve been hanging out in the library?’ Sue asks.

  ‘You know what, I’m glad you came straight out and asked me to my face,’ I say. ‘I hate to think what people are saying behind my back.’

  ‘To be honest, I think everyone knows what those girls are like,’ Sue says, ‘so everyone’s probably glad for you.’

  ‘Really?’ I say. ‘I’ve been feeling completely bummed about it. It’s hard making new friends so late in high school. I can’t really go up to groups and say, “Hey, can I be your friend?” when we’ve hardly spoken.’

  ‘I don’t think it’d be like that,’ Sue says. ‘I mean, I don’t talk to everyone all the time, but we’re all pretty friendly with each other. I doubt many people – unless they’re precious – would turn you away. We’re living in the age of social media – just because people don’t sit together doesn’t mean they’re not interested in each other’s lives.’

  ‘Good point,’ I say.

  ‘Anyway, you’re more than welcome to hang out with us,’ she says. ‘We’re a mash-up of people. I’m the nerd, Nicole’s the crazy, and Thomas and Jacob – well, they’re a breed of their own.’

  I smile.

  ‘Speaking of the boys,’ Nicole says, ‘let’s go find them.’

  When the three of us join up with Thomas Aziz and Jacob Dib, I’m surprised that they don’t even question my presence. Then again, maybe it is only the likes of Zayden, Vanessa and their cliques who think they’re superior to everyone else.